Chapter 2: The Audit and the First Breach
Chapter 2: The Audit and the First Breach
The rain beat a relentless tattoo against the reinforced glass of the temporary command center I had set up in the penthouse suite of the Grand Horizon Hotel. Spread across the large mahogany table were financial statements, offshore shell corporation registries, and encrypted drive backups provided by NCIS.
My laptop chimed, displaying a secure message from Marcus Vance, our distant cousin and the former chief financial officer of Vance Global Logistics—a man Harrison had fired and threatened into silence two years ago.
“Files decrypted,” Marcus’s message read. “The primary Cayman account is locked down. They tried to move forty million twenty minutes ago, but the federal freeze caught it mid-transfer.”
I leaned back in my leather chair, rubbing the back of my neck where the jagged keloid scars met my hairline. Every time the weather turned damp, the tissue tightened, reminding me of the heat, the screams, and the absolute betrayal of being locked out of the hatch from the other side.
My phone buzzed on the desk. It was an unknown number, but caller ID routed it straight through my secure firewall. I pressed speakerphone.
"Evelyn. Pick up the damn phone."
It was Julian. His voice lacked the arrogant swagger from the ballroom; now, it was laced with panic, frayed edges, and thinly veiled desperation.
"I'm listening, Julian," I said calmly, watching the city lights blur through the rain-streaked window.
"Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you've done? The board of directors has called an emergency session for 8:00 AM. Stocks are down twenty-two percent in after-hours trading because of the rumor mill. If the federal marshals seize the primary warehouse tomorrow, we default on the Pacific shipping contracts!"
"Then I suggest you start packing your desk," I replied evenly.
"Evelyn, please!" Julian's voice cracked. "Dad is... dad isn't doing well. His blood pressure spiked after you left. The doctor had to give him a sedative. Just name your price. How much do you want to make this go away? Five million? Ten?"
I laughed—a cold, humorless sound. "You think this is about money, Julian? You sold my life insurance policy while I was still doing physical therapy in a military hospital in San Diego. You used my death certificate as collateral for a yacht loan. You can't print enough money to buy back what you destroyed."
"We were told you weren't coming back!" Julian shouted, his mask slipping entirely. "The Navy classified the accident report! They said nobody could survive thirty minutes in those compartments!"
"And yet, here I am," I whispered. "Tell Harrison to take his blood pressure medication. He's going to need a very strong heart for what's coming tomorrow morning."
I hung up before he could answer and tossed the phone onto the desk.
There was a soft knock at the door, and the heavy oak panel swung open. Special Agent David Vance of NCIS—no relation, despite the shared last name—walked in, carrying a fresh cup of black coffee and a secure tablet.
"Captain," David said, setting the coffee down next to my computer. "We intercepted a communication from Victoria's husband, Richard. He’s been quietly liquidating his personal stock portfolio and booking a private charter flight to Zurich for tomorrow afternoon."
I took a sip of the coffee, letting the bitterness ground me. Richard knew the writing was on the wall. He was a corporate parasite who married into the family for status, and the moment the ship started sinking, he was the first rat heading for the lifeboats.
"Don't let him leave the country, David," I instructed, my eyes narrowing. "Richard is the one who managed the shell companies in the British Virgin Islands where they laundered the trust fund payouts. If he reaches Zurich, half our evidence trail goes dark."
"Already handled," David smiled faintly, tapping his tablet. "Federal Magistrate Judge Henderson just signed a flight restriction order and a border hold for Richard Sterling. Customs and Border Protection will flag him the moment he tries to check in at Teterboro Airport."
"Good." I stood up and walked over to the whiteboard on the wall, where I had mapped out the organizational structure of Vance Global Logistics. With a black dry-erase marker, I drew a large red "X" through Richard's name.
"Phase One is complete," I said aloud to the empty room. "They're isolated, panicked, and reacting defensively. Now we start hitting their core revenue streams."
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"What's our next target, Captain?" David asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.
"The municipal port contract," I replied, turning back to him with a sharp grin. "Harrison spent six months bribing the city council to secure exclusive dock rights for the new container terminal. It's time to show the city council members what happens when you do business with a sinking ship."
